


But Lose His Soul

by rokhal



Series: The Legend of Hillrock Heights [5]
Category: Ghost Rider (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Dark, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Use, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokhal/pseuds/rokhal
Summary: "I will curse you. I will plague your body and soul until you rot from within. I will consume you with anger, hatred, and the urge to kill. Your will may be strong, kid, but not strong enough to withstand a satanic serial killer's eternal lust for murder."Robbie and Eli's dreams get tangled again.
Series: The Legend of Hillrock Heights [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1176620
Kudos: 8





	But Lose His Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FifteenMinuteFics on Pillowfort.social.   
In considerably more than fifteen minutes.

Robbie stood in front of the bedroom mirror, holding one hand-painted silk tie, then another against the lapel of his jacket. He had a pile of the things on his bedspread and despite all their colorful patterns, they all looked the same, they were all fucking _neckties_, and he didn't need any of them. Fuckit. He left them in their pile, realized he felt a little faded around the edges, and picked up the little china box and the little gold spoon from his nightstand. Up the nose, pinch, sniff, burn. The world sharpened. Better.

He realized he should probably get rid of all these neckties he never wore.

He stuck the Ruger in his shoulder holster, the Gerber in the small of his back. Checked the beeper on his belt; nothing, looked like he really would have to show up at this stupid party after all.

Out in the hall, he almost rammed into the new girl. Maria. The latest home health aide. “Watch where you're standing,” he snapped, and headed down the hall to the living room, brightly lit with wide bay windows looking down on the Pacific Ocean.

Here were the most important things in his life: his other body, the 1969 Dodge Charger resting on glossy tiles in front of the custom doors that let him drive it right into his house. His CD library and surround-sound speaker system. His armory. And his brother, Gabe, in his chair in front of three big plasma screens, joysticks and drawing tablets and an adaptive keyboard all in easy reach. Gabe looked healthy, filled out, tall. He had a hint of stubble around his chin where Maria must have missed. He wore a soft-looking sweater that reached his wrists properly, and colorful Nikes. He'd grown up. He was thriving.

“Robbie, where're you going?” he asked.

“Out to the city to meet some friends for some business,” Robbie replied. “Maria's gonna take care of you. Maria?” And he crooked a finger sharply, beckoned her toward the mudroom, or, as he thought of it, the bloodroom.

She met his eyes, her whole body tense with the need to impress him, and he had to concentrate to keep from curling his lip at her.

“That guy out there,” he said, pointing out toward the living room, “is the most important person in my life. The _only_ important person in my life. Now you work for me. You're in my house. I know your car. I know you, I know your mother, I'm a reasonably bright guy, you know? You work for me, so he's now the most important person in _your_ life. Ask anybody who used to work for me. Go on, ask.”

Maria stared mutely at him. She was so young. Couldn't be more than eighteen.

Robbie was going to have to spell this out very clearly. “I don't fire people,” he said, “and you don't get to quit. You have a job to do. I am a very bad person to disappoint. If you make Gabe unhappy, I will be very disappointed.”

Her eyes were starting to widen and her lips to tremble.

“I'm not _mean,_” Robbie assured her. “I'm just not _nice._ You do a good job, and you're gonna be just fine.”

He buttoned his jacket, scratched under the shoulder holster, and left the bloodroom to open the big doors. Swung himself into the car, sighed at the feel of his steel wrapping protectively around him.

As he shut the door, Gabe wheeled over. Robbie rolled the window down. “What do you need, Bud?”

“Robbie, don't go.”

“I got to. It's for work.”

“We have lots of money. Robbie, don't.”

“I got to. Gabe, go play your games. Listen to Maria. I'll be back before you know it.” He rolled the window back up, started his engine, and rolled out of the house and out the driveway, and as the doors slid closed behind him, his beeper went off. It was Pavlovian, the way his heart leapt to hear that sound; he wouldn't just be working tonight, he'd be _working, _and he couldn't wait to get started. He drove with half his mind and dug out his cell to call the number on the beeper—and why did he have a cell phone _and_ a beeper? He'd never seen a beeper before in his life—and why did he have a damn _CD collection,_ and what was he wearing—

Robbie sat up in bed, gasping. It was dark, he was in cotton boxers with holes in them, the window was blacked out, no carpet on the floor, and he was Robbie—

But he'd thought he'd been Robbie in the dream, too.

He sucked in air faster and faster, until his fingers tingled with cold and he felt he was about to pass out. **That was—was that a **_**good dream?**_** I didn't know you could have those! This is what I keep trying to tell you, kid, I could do that for you, that could be our life!**

He was losing himself.


End file.
